


Liquid Metal

by Tes_aes



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Study, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13597614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tes_aes/pseuds/Tes_aes
Summary: Blood. It’s what kept the human body alive and left the skin upon the breaking of flesh. It had a smell and a metal tang. Something that disgusted most people. But these boys could never consider themselves to be like most people.





	Liquid Metal

Blood didn’t smell all that bad. It tasted like metal and was usually warm at first before cooling. It stained most things and many said it was impure. The sight of blood horrified most people. But these boys weren’t like most people. Blood bothered none of them, having seen that _vile_ red so often.

Sha Gojyo had been living in blood his entire life. Since he was able to recognise himself in a mirror he’d seen blood. He was a child of sin, a half breed and the result of an affair. His step mother despised him and his father had abandoned him. He lived a cruel childhood. The first time he saw blood that was not his own was when his brother slaughter their mother.

It was terrifying. Gojyo was sure he’d stop breathing. He wanted to be the one to die; it would have made mom happy. The blood reached his toes and continued to flow forward; it felt no different to water too little Gojyo. But it made him afraid. The sight of red took away everything he cared about and loved. Maybe that’s why he made such a cynical adult.

Blood was just another part of his day now. He stopped thinking of his hair and eyes as sin, accepting them and learning there were so many more things red symbolised. Passion, fire, love, it wasn’t so bad after all. Death wasn’t the end as he’d learnt from his most _holy_ companion when he asked about Buddhist beliefs. He did like that idea; of reincarnation and death being considered an opportunity.

Cho Hakkai was less humble about the sight of blood. It wasn’t something he grew up with, but he became accustom to its sight and smell and taste of it. He was a sociopath; he knew that. He’d murdered and entire village for the sake of revenge. He felt like a demon before he became one, which was ironic really. Maybe his bad karma had been accumulating for longer than his rampage.

He thought about his countless kills, they didn’t really mean anything to him but he tried to justify every single one over time. Usually when he couldn’t sleep and guilt began to eat at his sides and red crept into his vision; he needed a way to distract himself. He told himself he had a reason to kill each and every one of them.

Red was on his hands though. He would always see it there. Sometimes he felt the need to scrub at his skin till his own blood was flowing instead but it usually passed without incident. Now, after all he’s done, people see him an angel. He’s kind and always smiling. It makes him feel like shit.

Son Goku was indifferent. He felt indifferent about most things, other than food and Sanzo probably. Blood was just another thing in life; he didn’t see blood on his hands being different to sweet icing from the cakes Hakkai sometimes let him get from bakery’s, except for the context. He knew what he meant.

He’d killed lots of Youkai but he’s been told he’s killed countless people for the sake of killing. It was a thought that make me feel cold inside. He didn’t like killing, he didn’t find it that fun even if he laughed about it with the kappa. It was considered bad. He’d listened to those monks at the temple, who said you shouldn’t cause harm to any living being. But he had to kill to survive, that thought was so deeply engrained he wasn’t sure a quiet life without a fight to the death would suit him.

He sometimes though of the times he’s seen his friends bleed, at deaths door even. He knew they were going to die and he wouldn’t. That thought hurt his chest and made his eyes water. It usually reached him in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep or had had yet another dream of the impending doom the four seemed to face every day.

Genjo Sanzo despised blood. It was filthy and wet, making his robes dirty. Gojyo always made fun of him for staying out of the major action, firing his gun from the one position. It was so he didn’t have to get close enough to smell the blood, _taste_ the blood his victims spilt. His disgust of blood came from those years of being covered in it; always in his hair and under his nails. He thought he’d forever have the scent of blood on him.

Sometimes he could still smell it on his skin, or tasted it under his nails. No amount of scrubbing in the shower or chewing his nails got rid of it. He wanted to say he was used to it but he wasn’t. He cursed the gods for his misfortunes but honestly it was probably his karma for the senseless killing he engaged in. There was no way he’d be reincarnated as something decent in his next life.


End file.
